Still Breathing, Ever Breaking
by Miencat
Summary: Ludwig's love for Feliciano knows no bounds. Through sickness and health, they are eternal. Gerita. Germany/Italy. Teen for Romano's language.


**Request for my dear friend Cloudybrowneyes on Tumblr for a Gerita AU thing. Special thanks to charlieisawesom and cloudybrowneyes for nagging me constantly in school to finish. **

_Eighth of March, 2014; Excerpt from the Berlin Newsletter _

_Feliciano Vargas-Beilschmidt, age thirty-six, died of heart failure on Wednesday, March fifth. He leaves behind brother Lovino, age thirty-eight, and husband Ludwig, age thirty-six. Family members refused to speak with us on his behalf._

The cold white walls of the waiting room seemed to loom over the hunched man in the corner, as if closing in around him. This was not supposed to happen to them. Maybe when they were old and frail, but not when they still had an entire lifetime before them.

A shaking hand pulled at the already knotted blonde hair, typically gelled back; but today no one cared to fix it. No one had time to fix it. Sky blue eyes were already red and raw from tears and rubbing, but still no one commented. They could tell. They could tell just by looking at him, where he was, and how he spoke, eyes downcast and voice unnaturally high and cracking. He was here, in the emergency waiting room of the hospital, because someone dear was beyond the locked doors, struggling to draw their next breath.

Ludwig Vargas-Beilschmidt was beyond distraught. It was as if the entirety of the world had fallen out from underneath him; all hopes riding on a single point in the infinite time-space continuum. He knew what was coming the moment Feliciano had sunk to the floor in inexplicable pain, but he still refused to acknowledge it. Feliciano couldn't die. Not now.

The doctors strode firmly into the room, and Ludwig's world began to shrink and tear, watching with horror as they brought him a clipboard straining to hold down numerous forms. Their faces seemed almost inhuman, mockingly so, as they looked down upon him with resigned and tired smiles.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Beilschmidt, there was nothing we could do."

Ludwig was certain the sound of breaking glass was not that of his reading glasses slipping down his nose to the floor, but in fact the sound of his shattering heart.

Gilbert and Erzsebet(1) had been the first to visit, coming up from their home the second they heard, battling all manners of traffic to reach Ludwig's side by that very cursed night. They insisted on staying until the funeral, possibly longer; in all honesty, Gilbert had said, the drive wasn't that long and they could stay for as long as Ludwig needed them.

And dear Gott, did Ludwig need them. He was beyond any form of function, trapped in a moment of time, holding on desperately to something, anything that could make this nightmare end. He did not eat, and did not speak, sinking into his king-sized bed as early as five, hands ever reaching for copper locks that were not there.

If one said Gilbert was worried, that would be the understatement of the century- no, of the millennium.

The next morning brought fresh tears and shaking hands, as Ludwig was forced to explain to Mr. Kirkland, that no, he could not come to work today, and yes, it was personal, and _Oh Gott, oh Gott, Feliciano died and I don't know what to do_. Mr. Kirkland had been silenced, trying to find the right words to say, anything at all that could help. Never before had his employee been caught crying or broken or at all eager to miss a day, usually he had to be sent home.

"I'm so sorry, Mr. Beilschmidt. Please take your time, Mr. Honda can fill in for you. I send my best wishes."

For this he earned a choking sob, and something that could have passed for a "Thank you, sir." Setting down the phone lightly, and letting the information sink in, Arthur Kirkland buried his head into his desk, forgetting for a moment about the stack of papers that needed to be signed. Those weren't important, family and life and happiness where all a person required.

Ludwig could call his employer, sure, but calling Lovino was another matter. The older Italian hated him already, never with any reason, and his brother's death within Ludwig's care was sure to spawn unbridled rage. In the end, Gilbert was forced to make the call, while Erzsebet tried everything within her powers to calm Ludwig down enough to eat.

"'Ello, Lovino speaking. You better have a good reason to be calling me at seven in the morning or I'll hang up within the next ten seconds." The sharp voice was punctuated, pricking at the albino's eardrums, and capturing the attention of Ludwig in the kitchen.

"Lovino, it's Gilbert, I-"

"Ten...nine...eight..."

"Oh Gott, it's about Feliciano, he-"

"Six...five...four..."

"He's dead."

Silence had never felt louder. The insistent irritating vibe that Lovino radiated all but evaporated in the span of a nanosecond.

"You sick fuck, if this is some kind of joke, I'll-"

"He had a heart attack and died, Lovino. They couldn't save him in time."

Lovino's voice cracked, and his breath started coming in heavy laboring sounds.

"I-I wh...what? Oh dio mio! Please! But if you're... if you're calling me," Lovino's voice trailed away, hesitating slightly before continuing, "...does that mean the potato- Ludwig, did he...?"

"No. He just can't talk or seem to do anything. He was scared, you know. Scared you would blame him."

"What?!"

By this point Gilbert had lost his composure completely. "We're holding the funeral on the fourth of May, just be there, okay? I-I have to...go."

Gilbert nearly slammed the phone back into its holder, not giving Lovino a chance to respond. Because Ludwig had heard enough, enough to send him quietly back to his empty bed, silently curling in upon himself.

A knowing look was exchanged with Erzsebet, and a painful two months of preparing for the funeral began.

During this time, Ludwig hardly ever ate or slept, attending work and finishing his assignments in silence, hardly acknowledging anyone. He tried to move forward, he truly did, but it was impossible, coming home to Erzsebet fussing over him like a child, no eager amber eyes anywhere in sight. Gilbert would come home two hours later, and they would attempt a family dinner, only to have Ludwig either kindly refuse or pick at his food sporadically. Nights ended with Ludwig in bed by six or seven, clutching desperately at the empty sheets beside him.

Until May fourth, when Ludwig stood in his back yard on a decorated stand with all of his friends and family staring up expectantly, waiting for him to deliver his sermon over the body of Feliciano.

"Feliciano Veneziano Vargas-Beilschmidt was the single best thing to ever occur in my life..." For over an hour he stood there and he spoke, clearly, yet obviously lacking his normal attention grabbing, army-officer command over people's presence. He spoke on and on about everything they had ever done, every trial and triumph along the way, every time Feliciano had taken his hand and shown him the beauty of the world, not so beautiful now. Every time he ever saw Feliciano, he was the light of the world, ever-smiling and happy, ever loving and carefree. _It was so unfair_, he wanted to shout; _I wish I had died instead_ was on the tip of his tongue. But he forced himself to continue on, the once muscular frame now shaking with the force of withheld sobs, weakened by his death, weakened by the guilt and the grief and the would-haves and should-haves.

They buried his body, right there, under his favorite tree, a spot they had picked out when they were young and carefree and thought they had all the time in the world before either would end up there. How wrong they were. How ignorant and stupid and _oh lord it hurt, like a thousand knives shoved through his skin._

After nearly all had left, saying their empty condolences and sorrows (or perhaps they only felt empty when compared to the gaping hole in Ludwig's heart), Lovino had strode up, angry tears running down his face. He gripped Ludwig by the collar, all rational thoughts thrown out the window in a display of force.

"You bastard," he hissed, spitting at him harshly, "You fucking bastard, you killed him, you were supposed to take care of him! Now he's dead and it's all _your_ fault!" It was obvious Lovino wasn't thinking straight, but the words dug deeper than the thousand knives already buried in his side.

"You're right," he whispered, blue eyes cast down, "It's all my fault. I should have died instead." Ludwig pulled away and limped slowly inside, already spent from a day of pretending he was okay, pretending he was happy- and there was no room in his shattered heart for the laments of a despairing brother-in-law.

Lovino's eyes followed him, contemplating the answer he had just received. Without another word, he turned and left, grabbing his bags and opting for a hotel instead of the house of the broken man.

A month after the funeral, and it still was an open wound, salt consistently being poured in seeming tidal waves. Ludwig still tried to go to work every day, and Erzsebet and Gilbert still practically had to force-feed him. It was becoming clear that he could not continue like this, and his quality of work and social circles were steadily declining, so it was only a matter of time before he was confronted about it.

Mr. Kirkland called him into his office that very Thursday.

"Mr. Beilschmidt, I assume you know why you're here. Your work has become haphazard, and I'm concerned for your health."

Ludwig acted upon his right to remain silent.

"Ludwig, please, if this is about Feliciano-" Ludwig released a small squeak, to which Mr. Kirkland assumed he had hit the mark. "We need to talk about this. I understand you are upset, but you cannot let this affect you so much. Unfortunately, this is a business, and if you can't keep up, I may have to let you go."

Ludwig hung his head, hiding his already leaking eyes. "I'm sorry sir. Maybe it would be for the best if I just resigned." His voice had become permanently quiet and hollow, lacking any of the stern command it held before.

"Ludwig, that's not necessary, I'm sure we can-"

"I don't want to forget."

Mr. Kirkland was thoroughly confused. "Excuse me?"

"I don't want to lose him. I know he's gone, but sometimes it feels like he's still here, and I can't..." Ludwig's breath became strangled as he tried not to cry in front of his employer. "It-it won't be a problem financially, my father left us money and I've saved a lot, I just can't...I can't keep holding you all back."

"Ludwig, you don't-" But Ludwig had already taken the form from his desk, focusing on filling it out as he rubbed at his eyes persistently.

He left the form on Mr. Kirkland's desk, gathered up his things, and left without a word, never once looking back.

It wasn't long before he was stepping into the front room of his house, the car ride all but eliminated from his memories. Erzsebet was nowhere to be seen, so it was safe to assume she was working in person rather than from home today. Ludwig didn't really mind, she would probably berate him for quitting work and attempt to get him to eat. It wasn't that he was purposely avoiding food, he simply wasn't hungry. Especially not for any of his so-called "favorites", because Feliciano had always made those and-and he wouldn't think about that, no he mustn't, because it was unfitting for him to cry and it had been three months but the pain had neither dulled nor faded in any way.

Ludwig had never been home before four, and he was at a loss for what to do. He could read, he supposed, or he could- no, he couldn't. But he could probably find something in his study that was far removed from his problems, something to read to take his mind away from it all. He searched around briefly for his favorite pair of reading glasses, only to remember that _oh Gott, those were the pair he wore on that day and he broke them when he heard._

When he first heard Feliciano was no more.

This was the straw that broke the camel's back. There was nothing he could do, nothing it seemed, that would take Ludwig's mind away from _him_, and he did not know how he could survive another day like this. It was only one and still absurdly bright out, but there was nothing more Ludwig desired than to retire to his bed, and sleep all his cares away. Because in his dreams, Feliciano was still alive and they were okay and healthy and fine and happy and Ludwig wanted nothing more. If only he didn't have to wake up every morning to an empty bed and cold sheets and a wall of silence. He would sleep forever if he could.

It was highly improper to fall asleep in one's work suit, but Ludwig hardly cared as he gathered up the sheets about him, slipping into his own realm with out any pause.

He awoke to a gentle hand shaking his shoulder, and his brother's voice whispering, "Ludwig, please get up." Blinking away his confusion, Ludwig slowly sat up, squinting at the harsh light from the setting sun.

"What time is it?"

Gilbert sighed, rather perplexed it seemed. "Six. You want to explain why you were home so early? Erzsebet said you were in here when she came back at four. And in your suit, too."

Ludwig stared up blankly. "I quit. Because I am unfit to work."

Gilbert stretched back, pushing his hands through his hair and releasing a strangled grunt. "Please tell me you didn't actually. I know it's tough, but if you keep telling yourself things like that, how will you ever get through?"

Ludwig stared off to the side, avoiding eye contact yet maintaining the same bleary look.

"I don't know."

Gilbert tugged at his arm gently, gesturing towards the door. "C'mon, Erzsebet made potato gnocchi with bratwurst, your favorite. You really should eat with us."

"I'm not hungry." He left the other words unspoken, but they echoed endlessly around his head. _Feliciano always made me that._

Gilbert wouldn't have it. He started pushing Ludwig up and out of his bed, dragging him by the arm towards the door. "You have to eat at some point, and we need to have a discussion about this, okay?"

So Ludwig found himself seated at the dining room table with Erzsebet and Gilbert trying to force feed him the gnocchi, and considering he wouldn't even lift up his own fork, it was probably for the best they did. Erzsebet was trying to remain quiet and gentle, but Gilbert was glaring him down the entire time. At last he spoke.

"Ludwig, we need to talk about today, because you said you quit your job, and we never even talked about this."

Erzsebet looked up from her plate, staring curiously at Ludwig, who felt himself melting under their combined pressure.

"Mr. Kirkland said I was producing consistently inadequate work, and would hold the company back. So I quit."

Erzsebet set her fork down, and leaned forward to grasp Ludwig's shoulder. "Dear, I'm sure things aren't like that. Mr. Kirkland was probably more worried about your health than anything else. You haven't slept very well recently."

_And you should know exactly why._

If looks could kill, Ludwig would have burnt through the brunette woman's skull by now.

"I'm perfectly healthy, thank you."

Gilbert was the next to grip his shoulder, hard crimson eyes meeting stoic blue. "You know, West," Ludwig flinched visibly. Gilbert hadn't called him that since they were kids. "There are three parts to a person's overall health. Physically you may have experienced worse, but emotionally and mentally, you're not...up to standards. Maybe it would have been better to request a vacation than to just flat out quit."

Ludwig suddenly found twirling his fork through the gnocchi to be quite fascinating.

Gilbert continued, "I know it's hard, but you have to overcome this. If you let it weigh you down too much you could become very ill, or lose your mind completely. You're still relatively young, you know, and there's plenty of fish in the sea, as the saying goes."

"Dear, I'm sure Ludwig can get on just fine if you give him time. Maybe a break from work or a new job is just what he needs," Erzsebet interjected quickly, the Hungarian woman very aware of what Gilbert had just implied.

Gilbert, however, was not aware, and shook his head roughly, not noticing how Ludwig's knuckles had turned white from the force of his grip on his fork. "No, Erzsebet, he needs to get back into the social scene, meet someone new and move on. Like I said, he's still got his whole life ahead of him, I bet-"

Ludwig had dropped his fork and settled on bringing his clenched fist up to grasp Gilbert's collar, sky-blue eyes burning with a fiery intensity and voice holding all of its previous power.

"Don't you ever say that again. You act like Fe- _he_ wasn't important or is replaceable. Is that how you would react if Erzsebet died? Go off and find a new wife?" His voice was rough and cracked, breaking from the pressure of his words, curling up from dark eyes to cut at the naive face of the albino.

"Bruder, I-I-"

Gilbert's stuttering was cut short by a fist connecting hard with his jawbone. Ludwig released his collar and let the albino sink to the floor, looking on with seemingly hollow eyes that betrayed none of his thoughts.

"No. You didn't think about that. Just...leave me alone." The blonde's voice faltered near the end, straining to regain some of the former levelheaded and logical thought processes, but ultimately coming up short. Ludwig stalked out of the room, breaths coming heavily and unevenly, allowing his brother to remain on the floor in awe of what had just transpired. Never before had Ludwig struck out unnecessarily.

_I'm nothing without him. I have no self-control._

Fear was rising quickly in his throat as Ludwig pressed his head gently into the doorframe at the end of the hall. What had he done to his brother? More importantly, why was it so hard to tolerate him? He had known Gilbert all his life, enough to know that he meant well, the albino just couldn't express his concerns properly. And he was concerned, and the comments were supposed to be helpful, albeit rude any way you took it, and Ludwig usually could handle Gilbert's uncouth comments calmly. Why was it so hard to calm down and think logically?

_Because he's not here to hold my hand._

The fourth month of sorrow was spent completely in silence. Gilbert was hesitant to bring anything up after that day, and Erzsebet was content so long as Ludwig took Aster to the dog park once a day, because apparently this counted as "being social and making friends" even though Ludwig never stopped to talk to anyone. It was July now, and the weather was heating up, sunny skies and few clouds, birds and flowers reappearing. The season echoed a hollow joy, a beauty so far removed from Ludwig's being it stung just too look outside. How could the world be so happy when all he felt was pain?

Mid-July was also when Mr. Kirkland decided to drop by, on a balmy Sunday with a case of his homemade scones, of which had a reputation for being one of the most vile desserts to have ever been concocted. The gift was a kind gesture however, and Erzsebet let him into the house without first consulting Ludwig on the matter.

As it was, Ludwig was in no condition to have any visitors. The lack of food had caught up with him at last, and he had contracted a cold, which resulted in Erzsebet babying him further, and confining him to bed. Which was not the greatest of conditions to receive visitors, much less your former boss who you reassured repeatedly you would be fine after leaving the firm. Ludwig was not fine, and it showed physically through the bags under his eyes and the loss of muscle mass, not to mention the fact he was confined to bed.

Mr. Kirkland entered the dark room cautiously, slinking forward precariously to eventually stop at the foot of the bed.

"Hello, Ludwig. It's pleasant to see you again."

Ludwig grunted in response, lifting his upper back in an attempt to fortify his seated position on the bed as a strong one.

"I, ah, well. You seem to be getting along, at any rate. I understand this is a hard time for you, and I just wanted you to know that you have my full support, as well as everyone at the firm's."

Stepping over to the nightstand, Mr. Kirkland placed a red envelope with Ludwig's name hastily scribbled on the back.

"Everyone pooled together a little something for you. We're still your friends, always remember that."

Seeing that Ludwig would not respond to anything, Mr. Kirkland sighed and shuffled for the door, closing it firmly behind him. Ludwig heard him speaking to Erzsebet, but all he could make out was, "Will he be okay?" It didn't matter what Erzsebet's answer was, because Ludwig himself could tell you.

_Not when he's gone._

As July transitioned into August, it became apparent that Ludwig's ailment had transitioned as well, to something much more serious. Erzsebet kept him in bed all day, which truthfully he didn't mind, because he felt awful and didn't want to move anyways, but the bed was just far too large for one man alone. A constant reminder that nothing could turn back the clock. Pain accompanied the flu-like symptoms on some days, and he wondered if perhaps his senses were dulled from the numb feeling that encased his mind, because something was definitely off about his lungs, but the pain wasn't anything that far out of the ordinary Charley horses(2), which Gilbert had to assure him multiple times in his youth were simply muscle spasms, and would pass quickly.

It wasn't until the pain erupted from his chest that he felt something was truly wrong. It felt as though little blades lined the insides of his lungs, stabbing at him every time he attempted to inhale. Each breath came quicker and shallower, and-when had Erzsebet gotten here? All coherency of his thoughts seemed to slip between Ludwig's fingers, leaving him in absolute wonder at the fire in his chest and Erzsebet frantically dialing the phone, yelling words that really should have made sense, but before he could figure it out, the world was black.

Gilbert Beilschmidt was not having the best of days at work. He ran a small mechanic's shop, offering repairs and oil changes for an honest price. Today he had arrived late, due in part to the health of his younger brother. Then he had been backed up three cars, because some people thought they could waltz in and demand service _immediately_,threatening the front desk manager with their fancy lawyers and brand-names. A call from Erzsebet mid-day was not what he needed to get back on track, but the albino picked up the phone anyways, knowing she would continue calling until he picked up.

"Hello, Gilbert speaking."

He was not prepared for the frantic shouts from the other end.

"Oh dear, Gilbert, it's Ludwig, he- we're-! I don't know if he'll be alright oh god, oh god!"

"Hang on, Erzsebet, slow down! Now what's going on?"

Gilbert felt his stomach drop to his feet at the reply.

"We're at the hospital in the emergency room, oh god, Gilbert, please hurry!"

Gilbert hastily shut off his phone, grabbing his keys and running out the door, yelling back at the front desk manager that they were closed for the day on emergency grounds. If Erzsebet was this terrified, something had truly gone wrong, because she was normally the stronger of the two. It was at least an hour's drive to the hospital, and the entirety of the drive was spent in constant internal turmoil, wondering what could have possibly happened, and imagining all sorts of worst-case scenarios.

He had rushed into the hospital, barely taking the time to give the front desk his name and affiliations before being directed to the correct waiting room. Erzsebet was already there, eyes focused on some point off in space. She beckoned him in once she saw him.

Sitting down beside her, Gilbert raised his voice to ask, "Where is he?"

Erzsebet nodded to the door into the offices and medical rooms, replying, "He had to be given anesthesia. They're doing an x-ray now to try to find out what's wrong."

"What happened?"

"He started breathing strange, shallow and quickly, like he was in pain. He wouldn't respond to anything I said to him either."

Gilbert nodded in understanding, and the two began the process of reporting to the waiting room or occasionally by Ludwig's bed for the next week, until they at last received a prognosis.

Pneumonia(3).

There was normally a fifty-percent survival rate, but in Ludwig's current state, they had said, the chances were much slimmer. He was already delusional, the doctors said, constantly looking for someone named _Feliciano_, and completely ignoring the nurses who tried to aid him. The best course of action was to induce comatose. He would be fed through tubes and attached to IVs, but it was likely many of his systems had failed already.

Thus began two months of standing by the unconscious man's bed, waiting for either a stirring or a complete stilling, unsure of what outcome would be preferred. Unsure of themselves, because they should have taken better care of him. Unsure that even if Ludwig did pull through, that he would thrive to the extent of the years before.

Until one fateful day in early October, nearly seven months since Feliciano's passing.

The cold white walls of the waiting room loomed over the albino man and long-haired brunette woman sitting hand in hand in the corner. They knew this would happen. It could have happened when they were old and frail, but such was not to be.

A shaking hand pulled at the already knotted brunette hair, typically tied back; but today no one cared to fix it. No one had time to fix it. Crimson red eyes were already red and raw from tears and rubbing, but still no one commented. They could tell. They could tell just by looking at them, where they were, and how they spoke, eyes downcast and voices unnaturally high and cracking. They were here, in the emergency waiting room of the hospital, because someone dear was beyond the locked doors, struggling to draw their next breath.

Gilbert and Erzsebet Beilschmidt were beyond exhausted. It was as if the entirety of the world had fallen out from underneath them; all hopes riding on a single point in the infinite time-space continuum. They knew what was coming the moment Ludwig had come home that fateful night, but acknowledging it was harder than either anticipated. Ludwig was going to die.

But unlike the blonde man who had sat here seven months ago, these two thought that perhaps all was for the best. Ludwig was a broken man, and even if he overcame complete organ failure, there was no telling if he would emotionally or mentally recover. Maybe they would be okay.

Maybe they were okay, maybe they understood when the doctors strode in, even though they were tired too, and fumbled with the papers, clipboards straining to hold down all numbers of forms. Their faces were bound by the emotions all humans felt; regret, that they had not done better; fear, that they would be struck when they delivered the news, and most of all sorrow, because in the end a human life was gone. They tried to force a smile, the nurse with the clipboard came up to the Beilschmidts carefully.

"I'm sorry, Mr.-"

"It's okay. We knew."

They would be okay. They would be okay because they were both still alive and had each other and Lovino and Antonio and Roderich and all their dear friends and family. They would be okay because wherever they were, it was of little doubt that Feliciano and Ludwig were together now, and they would all meet again someday.

_Second of October, 2014; Excerpt from the Berlin Newsletter_

_Ludwig Vargas-Beilschmidt, age thirty-six, passed away this Monday. Ludwig had contracted pneumonia after his husband, Feliciano's, untimely death seven months ago. Brother Gilbert, age forty, stated that, "Ludwig most likely died of grief. He was completely devastated by Feliciano's passing, and I believe he could have recovered if he allowed us to help him. In a sense, I think he's happier now, and I will always treasure our short time together."_

(1) Erzsebet and Gilbert are an established couple. This was necessary because Ludwig doesn't really have many tight ties with gentler, kind people. Which he very much needed.

(2) Charley Horse-A **charley horse** is a popular North American term for painful spasms or cramps in the leg muscles, typically lasting anywhere from a few seconds to about a day. We're such noobs here that we use the term to describe all muscle cramps.

(3) **Pneumonia** is an inflammatory condition of the lung—affecting primarily the microscopic air sacs known as alveoli. It is usually caused by infection with viruses or bacteria. Typical symptoms include a cough, sharp or stabbing chest pain, fever, and difficulty breathing. In adults, confusion is very common, either in response to the illness, or the drugs used to kill pain. Still a leading cause of death today.


End file.
